Dead Men Tell No Tales
by ShadowPrincess-Shekailaia
Summary: Sequel to Cause of Death: Autopsy. Two months after Tritter's death, House is called in for questioning. After having to deal with a stupid examiner, he tries to figure out who could've squealed. This is slash, folks: HouseWilson.


Okay folks, I really didn't plan on writing a sequel to Cause of Death: Autopsy, but this came to me in a dream and I had to write it... I've been reluctant to post it here for reasons that it is my first slash... Anyway, enjoy. **This is not a stand-alone fic.** **You must have read Cause of Death: Autopsy in order to understand this. Click on the pretty name above and look for it in my profile.**

Disclaimer: I. Do. Not. Own. Do you see Tritter dying a horrible and grusome death? I don't think so. So no...not mine.

Dead Men Tell No Tales

House wasn't sure what made him do it. In between everything that had been going on and his general despise for authority figures, the plans set themselves out and he followed them through without a hitch. He managed to get the others involved as enthusiastically as possible, including Wilson and Foreman, who tried without success to convince the others that it would be a forlorn hope. All in all, it turned out as smoothly as possible. No one even suspected a thing afterwards, and all was good.

Some part of him knew what the possible consequences could be. Everyone involved could have gone and squealed, their consciousnesses eating away at them and their weak-minded personalities. Those most affected were the ones with guilt complexes, the raw emotion forcing them into action.

What he wasn't quite expecting two months after Tritter's death was to be sitting on the cool metal of the chairs in the interrogation room himself, the picture of the dead man in question being slid before him.

"Why am I here exactly?" House asked, trying to get as comfortable as possible in the stiff seat. The investigator sat across from him, observing his actions and figuring how best to ask his questions.

"I understand that you and detective Tritter had a conflict prior to his death." The unidentified policeman said.

"Yes, we did. Care to get to your point?"

"What was it?"

"A revenge trip because I shoved a thermometer up his ass in the clinic for an examination. He's been trying to get back at me since then."

"I also understand that you performed the autopsy on him."

"And?" House said, an impatient look on his face.

"Wouldn't it have been better if someone else had performed the procedure? Considering your past…engagements, I mean." The man replied, leaning forward.

House sighed, dry-swallowing a Vicodin before continuing. "Look. The guy's dead. I'm curious as to what killed him, I do the autopsy. What am I going to do, manipulate the results to say he died from an overdose of crack? What would that accomplish?"

"You see, we don't know that. Anything could've happened in that room, especially since no one was supervising."

"It says in the report: "Cause of Death: Hypovolemic Shock"; most likely from the gunshots or the wounds in his legs that were also found all over his body. By the time I did the procedure, it was too late to find the direct cause. That should satisfy you, shouldn't it?" He asked, shifting his position again, his right leg not liking the chair at all.

"You don't know the direct cause of the shock?" The man asked, slightly shocked.

"If you're going to repeat everything I say in question form, this will take a very long time. Anyway, all I can do is imply. The gunshots were in a relatively safe spot near the heels. However, the hundreds of slices along his body that were both deep and long were much more likely to cause the shock."

"Do you know what caused the slices?"

"It looked like a very sharp blade with a smooth edge. It was possibly a razor blade or something similar. Besides, that's your job, isn't it? Find the murder weapon and all that jazz."

"This case has been open for two months and we still don't have many leads except for the bullets found in the victim's feet and the radio call received the night before his death." The man said, responding to House's leer with his own.

"Wait a minute. Are you implying that I'm the one that killed him?" House asked after a moment's hesitation.

"Those are your words, not mine," was the reply.

"Yes, but you've been edging toward that suspicion for a while now, haven't you?" House countered.

"I'll admit that you're a suspect, considering the circumstances, but we can't say anymore than that. You may leave."

House was pissed off, to say the least. Sure, it's only natural that they'd keep Tritter's case open for lack of evidence, but there was only one way that he would be ushered into the investigation so quickly, if at all; and that was if someone told.

Observing his minions gave no result and he knew that Cuddy wouldn't do something so low. If she didn't want a part in this, she didn't have to come along, but since she did, there was no way she would've squealed. That left only one possibility…

"Wilson." He said as he walked into his loft, noticing the other man already there, watching his TV.

Ever since the Tritter volcano blew over, Wilson had moved back in with House, not wanting to spend any more time in an empty hotel room with no one there waiting for him and a landlord demanding rent every other week.

"Hey House, I got cheesy action films with bad graphics." Wilson said from the couch, holding up a couple DVDs.

"You told them." He stated, throwing his coat unceremoniously to the side.

"What?"

"Don't play dumb, Wilson. You've done it before, what makes me think you can't do it again?"

"Wait, you think I tipped off the cops? What are you, insane? I'd be in the cage right along with you if that was true." He said, standing now.

"That wasn't the case with Tritter." House replied. Wilson gave him an incredulous look and then sighed.

"Look," He said, walking closer, bypassing the coffee table and couch, "Tritter is a manipulative, son of a bitch who deserved every bit of what he got. Okay?" House looked at the other man, wondering why he was expressing this as if he were expecting this conversation.

"Where are you going with this?" House asked, giving Wilson a curious look.

Wilson sighed before looking up at House. "You really are dense, aren't you?" He asked, moving closer. By this time, Wilson was within arm's length of his friend and House was nearly against the door.

"What—"

"Shut up." Wilson muttered before pressing House against the door and pressing his lips to the other man's. After a moment of supply and demand from both sides, they parted, catching their breath.

"What brought this on?" House asked, leaning against the wall and off this right leg.

"Ever since I moved back in, I've been trying to hint toward this. You're telling me you haven't noticed?"

"If that's true, you've been awfully subtle about it." House replied.

"Well, that's a shame, isn't it?" Wilson asked before pressing into yet another kiss. House gave as much as he got, and never got the chance to even consider who might have squealed on him.

_Maybe dead men do tell tales after all,_ were House's last thoughts on the matter before giving in to the sensations around him.


End file.
